


Chase My Heart

by justwanderingneverlost



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dany DOES NOT, Dany and Drogo are NOT a couple though he wants them to be, Dany is desperate to escape Vis and Drogo, Drogon is a race horse, F/M, Horse Racing, Jon's a horse whisperer/once upon a time jockey, Jonerys, Modern AU, steeple chase
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwanderingneverlost/pseuds/justwanderingneverlost
Summary: Jon Snow was once a race jockey. Gifted with horses, unbeaten on the track. But that was years ago. Now he sleeps in a barn and is no better than a stable boy with a dismal future. Until he meets a wild black stallion and his beautiful and troubled owner, Daenerys Targaryen.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Khal Drogo & Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 76
Kudos: 191





	Chase My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AenarSnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AenarSnow/gifts).



> Happy Father's Day, Aenar!!
> 
> You did not ask for this, and I really didn't plan it, but it's Father's Day and I know you're a sweet one, plus you're about the sweetest, most supportive reader a writer could ask for. So it's deserved imo. I hope you're having the happiest of days with the fam! And hopefully you like horses??? 
> 
> Uhhh, surprise?? I don't know what I'm doing y'all, I really don't. Other than torturing all of us with another WIP. But if you'll direct your eyes to the upper left pic on the board below... You'll see a gorgeous creation by the talented @waking-dreams-of-harmony over on tumblr that she gifted me out of the sweetness of her heart ❤️
> 
> I had gushed over the original during a group convo last week and dreamed of a fic where Dany could wear that dress, hoping someone would write it for me. Then Ellie surprised me with the Dany version the next day and of course I had to share it with everyone because it was so beautiful and then the ideas started flowing. atetheredmind said something about feeling Derby vibes and Ellie said Jockey!Jon and then my muse started begging and pleading me to put Jonno in tight white jockey pants. 🤣
> 
> To shut it up I made the Jockey!Jon edit and then the board in hopes I could be left in peace to continue my other wip's and maybe save these two beans for later. It obviously didn't happen and now here I am. xxthewolvenstormxx and ashleyfanfic might've nudged me some as well and a few other lovely ladies in our Jonerys fam too. They know who they are. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy this beginning. It's unbeated so all mistakes are mine.

And so it is just like you said it would be

Life goes easy on me

Most of the time

And so it is the shorter story

No love, no glory

No hero in her sky

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes

And so it is just like you said it should be

We'll both forget the breeze

Most of the time

And so it is the colder water

The Blower's daughter

The pupil in denial

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes off of you

I can't take my eyes

Did I say that I loathe you?

Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off of you

I can't take my mind off of you

I can't take my mind off of you

I can't take my mind off of you

I can't take my mind off of you

I can't take my mind

  
  


The Blower’s Daughter - Matt McAndrew

  
  
  
  


There was nothing quite like the shrieking of a pissed off horse to wake a man from an exhausted coma. The shrill screaming and sharp thwacks of lethal hooves bent on destroying a stall were excellent alarm clocks to top off a shitty night’s sleep.

Jon pushed himself upright from his bed of hay and wool blankets—he had yet to decide which was leaving him more itchy. His jaw cracked with a yawn as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A snuffling snort of hot air was blown in his face, soft lips nibbling at the top of his head and pulling his hair.

“Mornin’ Nym,” he mumbled as he reached up and gently pushed his sister's horse away, smoothing a palm over her warm velvety nose. “What’s going on out there, huh?”

The racket hadn’t waned, only grown, panicked and angry voices joining in on the horse’s displeasure. Jon got to his feet and stretched the kinks out of his back, his spine popping gloriously, before he shuffled to Nymeria’s stall door and looked out. 

Halfway down the aisle two men were carrying a third between them. Knocked out cold from the looks of it. Blood was pouring from his nose. Jon winced.  _ Poor bastard.  _

Chasing after them were another trio, two men and a woman. All yelling, though it looked as if the woman was bearing the brunt of the fury from the other two. One was a big bastard, dark skinned with a long black braid down his back. The other was a pale spindly twig who seemed unable to do anything but shriek like fucking banshee. Jon had no doubt he’d caused all the chaos. They disappeared around a corner, before he got a good look at the girl, heading toward the front entrance to await an ambulance no doubt. 

Mormont was gonna be pissed.

“People never learn, do they, Nym?” he grumbled as he turned and snatched up his boots, shoving a foot in one, then the other before giving a pat to her grey dappled flank and letting himself out of her stall. 

The dawn air felt damp and chilly on his bare arms as he walked toward the wild beast who was still kicking and screaming his outrage. Dust boiled into the aisle from the stall, like a brown storm cloud warning people of the fury within. It really wasn’t his business, but if someone didn’t step in the horse was going to tear his hide to pieces, or worse, break a leg, and gods’ knew Mormont didn’t need the headache of an irate owner threatening to sue. 

He approached carefully, slow and silent as he could, but his presence was detected nonetheless. A forceful snort greeted him the moment he reached the corner of the stall. A piercing squeal followed, along with a vicious kick to the wall he was pressed against. It rattled the whole stall and actually made Jon shift on his feet, but he paid it no mind and took another step forward. 

Through the tight metal bars he got his first glimpse of the animal within. Big and black and belligerent in the early morning sun. Smoky breaths blowing from his flared nostrils, his fury lifting from his shining, quivering hide in clouds of swirling steam like he was some mythical dragon come to life, minus the wings. His eyes were blown wide, ears laid back tight to his head. He lunged and screamed again. Jon looked away and took another step.

The beast tossed his head on his elegant neck, flecks of foam flying from his mouth as he snorted and squealed his resentment at Jon’s presence. 

Undaunted, Jon shuffled over slowly until he was within a few inches of the opening. There he stopped and made a quarter turn, leaned his shoulder against the stall. He stood stone still, eyes on the soft dirt beneath his boots, and waited. 

The stallion was none too pleased with him, tramping and stamping about as much as the small space allowed, still blowing like a great black boiler. He rushed him more than a few times, kicked and snapped. Jon ignored it all. 

He only had to wait a few minutes for the show to draw to a close, only a few puffs of breath and shuffling to be heard. Jon flicked his eyes up and the horse’s ears twitched from forward to back, then one forward again, listening. Always aware. He shifted his front end over toward the opening, both ears now trained on Jon.

Eyes cast downward again, Jon moved over as well and turned his back to the horse. Some would call him a fool and guarantee he was about to have a chunk of his shoulder taken out of him, but he didn’t think so. Behind him he heard the soft clomp of a hoof and then another, the shifting sigh of hay moving with them. Whiskers found him first, tickling his neck before the hot snort of air followed, a velvet nose shoving at him. He grinned.

Jon waited till a few more heaving breaths were given before he gently turned and let his new friend inspect him from the front, careful not to meet his large, liquid eyes. He snuffled at his chest, no doubt smelling Nymeria on his shirt. She loved to use him for a rubbing post. Jon took the opportunity to leisurely reach a hand up and slide it over his silky cheek. “You’re all bluster, aren’t you, big fella?” he murmured.

He got a rough shove, forcing him to stumble back a bit, but softly laughed it off as the beast pressed harder against the gate and stretched his head toward Jon, suddenly eager for more attention. Jon gave it, running his hands slowly up and down his long nose, the damp heat of his hide soaking into his palms. “Those dumb bastards piss you off? They’d probably piss me off too. I don't have a bit of patience for the dumb ones.”

His gentle grumblings were answered with several bobbing nods of the horse's huge head. He couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiastic agreement as he pressed a palm between his eyes and gave him a good rub.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a woman suddenly snapped. “Get away from him!”

The stallion jerked his head out of Jon’s hands as he gave a squeal, stomping and shuffling to the back of the stall. “Easy,” Jon murmured as he dropped his eyes and hands away, and turned his back to him. The horse immediately calmed, blowing out a steaming snort. 

Jon kept his cool, though inside he was fuming. The woman was running up on them scowling fiercely, no doubt ready to lay into him for daring to touch her property. He put a hand up and scowled right back at her. She skidded to a stop some feet away, eyes going wide. “Easy,” he hissed at her.

“Who do you think you are? That’s my horse.”

“Calm down. I haven’t hurt him, we were just having a talk,” he said, keeping his voice low and placid, as if he were talking to a distraught toddler. She probably wasn’t far from it. Jon would bet his last pair of good boots she had never been told no a day in her life.

His tone hadn't been for her benefit anyway, but the stallion's. He was back at the gate, his warm breath blowing on Jon’s neck. He took one slow step back and felt the hard push of a nose at his shoulder. He kept his feet, trying not to grin. 

The woman was staring at them dumbstruck, her outrage slowly draining away. It was only then he realized how beautiful she was. Her face, soft and sweet, with plush pink lips and skin as smooth as cream. Big blue-gold eyes and hair like spun silver. She was tiny too. It wasn’t often he came across a woman who would make him look tall, but she probably would.

Or maybe it was the clothes—skin tight riding pants, the fitted polo. The usual attire of practically everyone who ever stepped inside the barn. Somehow though, she made it look  _ more.  _ Different from everyone else.  _ Tempting.  _

He shook the thoughts away.  _ No rich chick would have anything to do with a flat broke bastard like him. _

Her demeanor changed so quickly he wondered if he’d voiced his thoughts out loud. Her brow had dropped low over her pretty eyes, those lush lips pinched tight, blue eyes flashing. “Did you give him something?” she demanded.

“What?” he bit out, thoroughly offended. Pissed as all seven hells actually. He’d never stooped to drugging a horse and he never would.

She shook her head, still glaring at him. “No one touches him.”

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake. He was done. _

He held up his hands, carefully—for the horse's benefit—and stepped away from the stall. “Whatever, lady. I was just trying to help.” He sighed and glanced at her horse. “Good luck, fella.”

With that he turned and walked away. He never should’ve bothered.

“Wait!” she called at his back. “You misunderstood.” He threw her a look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised in question, but only because the hitching quaver of her voice had hooked itself into his chest. He knew a broken soul when he heard one. “I meant… no one is  _ able  _ to touch him,” she explained softly, all of her animosity gone. Replaced with something he was well familiar with.  _ Defeat _ . “He won’t let  _ anyone _ near him.”

He turned back to face her, but his feet kept moving him backwards. She was trouble, he could feel it in his bones. “Maybe you need better people around him.”

For a fleeting moment she looked as if he’d broken her heart and his steps faltered. But she quickly shuttered herself away, a calm and clear aura of strictly business switching on. “Are you a trainer?” she asked, her eyes steady on his as she reached up and unhooked the string of fat pearls from around her throat and stashed them in her pocket. 

The move threw him off. Made no sense, at least not to him. But he’d never worn pearls around his neck either.

“Maybe,” he parried, why he didn't know.

“You either are, or you aren’t,” she scoffed. She was frowning at him again, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. “If you aren’t, you should be.”

His eyebrows jumped up as a bark of laughter left him without his permission. “You think so? Got that from the whole three seconds you saw me standing there before you started yelling at me?”

She ducked her head at that, a pink flush coloring her pale cheeks as she nervously licked at her full lips and he mentally kicked himself for being an arse. He stopped to apologize but she beat him to it. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. She shook her head and the rising sun caught in the silvery strands, giving it a warm glow. 

_ Silver hair. Who the fuck had silver hair? And why couldn’t he stop looking at it?  _

“I wasn’t angry with you,” she went on, pulling him from his stupor. “I was frightened you might be hurt. He’d just—“

“I saw,” he cut over her lowly. “He gonna be alright?”

Her arms wrapped around herself and she turned to her big black, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Her shoulders rose and fell helplessly. “I hope so,” she finally answered, so quiet he barely heard her. She swiped a trembling hand at her eyes.

_ Godsdamnit. _

She was either good at playing the damsel in distress, or her misery was no play at all. He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain it was all too real. He wandered back down the aisle, his steps slow. He felt more apprehension twisting in his belly approaching her than he had her horse. “He needs someone who speaks his language,” he found himself offering. 

She whipped her head around and gave him a puzzled look. He flicked his finger toward the stall. She nodded, still chewing on her bottom lip. He really wished she wouldn’t. He couldn’t take his fucking eyes off her.

Clearing his throat, he forced them to the stallion. “Horse like him…” he shook his head, “you can’t force them into submission. Only makes em—“

“Drogon,” she said.

He cut her a look. “What’s that?”

“His name. It’s Drogon.”

“Oh.” He looked over at  _ Drogon _ and couldn’t help but chuckle.  _ Dragon, indeed.  _ “Fits him well, I’d say.” 

Her face had softened when he turned back to her, the smallest of smiles curving up her full lips.  _ Gods, she was beautiful, and fucking sad.  _

It was in her eyes, like shadows shifting in the sea as she looked from him to Drogon and back. He knew what she was going to ask before she even opened her pretty mouth. He was already shaking his head when she did.

“Do you happen to have room for one more in your schedule...” Her eyebrows went up expectantly and he realized she was asking for his name.

“Jon,” he stepped forward and offered her his hand, “Jon Snow.”

She took it in hers and it was soft and warm and fit his far too well. “Daenerys Targaryen,” she returned softly. She slipped it free and he somehow felt scooped out, like she’d absorbed a piece of him during the simple touch and kept it for herself. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?” he asked, suddenly having forgotten everything else.

“Have room for another client…”

_ Oh, that.  _ “I uuhhh…” He had room for a lot more than one, but he didn’t necessarily need her knowing that. “I’m pretty full up with my sister and her horse,” he tried gently. It didn’t work.

“Would you please at least consider it, Jon?” she pleaded. 

Not asked, not wondered, not questioned, but  _ pleaded.  _ Said his name in  _ that  _ way with more fear in her eyes than any woman should ever have. He’d been wrong about her. Assumed things he shouldn’t have. Had no right to. Just a few moments with her and he knew Daenerys Targaryen was alone in the world. And he knew then and there his life was about to get way more complicated. 

“The man on the way to the hospital was my last hope,” she babbled on. “I can't find anyone else who will even consider helping me.” Her hands fell to her thighs with soft smacks and she let out an odd noise, somewhere between a whimper and a wry chuckle that made his chest feel like he’d been kicked. “He's made a name for himself. Haven't you, boy?” she sighed as she closed the distance between her and her horse and the fickle brute became no more than a purring kitten at her touch, his long feathery lashes falling closed in contentment. Jon wondered if he’d do the same if he was to ever feel her hands running along his skin. No doubt he would. She turned and met his eyes.  _ “The Black Dread.”  _

He gave a chuff of laughter. “Catchy. And fitting.”

Her face said she didn't think so and his smile fell away. “Drogon's fast. He was born to race.” Her gaze went back to the stallion, following the slow sweep of her hand as it ran over his muzzle. “He can jump anything you put in front of him. He simply flies over it,” she said wistfully. “I hate this. This forcing him… But I _need_ him on the track.” 

Jon could guess what that  _ need _ was. 

Money. 

Unfortunately, that's what racing was all about anymore. Not the horses, or the sport. Only about greedy bastards fattening their already fat bank accounts. Being able to brag to another rich arsehole about their prized steed. But as he watched this beautiful woman with her magnificent horse, he didn't see someone like that. 

He had no doubt she needed money, but the despair written all over her face, the hopelessness in her eyes, the weight he could almost see pressing down on her shoulders… It wasn't about power, or greed, or status for her. It was about survival. 

He knew all about that. And horses. Maybe if he helped the horse, it would help her? And him. Give them all three a way to survive. 

“I'm no miracle worker,” he warned her. The hope that flared to life within her eyes sure made him wish he was. He shook his head at her before it could rise too high and let her fall too far. “I'm not promising anything,” he stressed. “We'll have to find the right jockey, but… I’ll see what I can do.”

He thought for a terrifying split second she might dash over and hug him, instead she sank back on her heels, swallowed and gave him a bobbing nod. “Thank you, Jon Snow. Thank you, so much.” 

“Don't thank me yet, Daenerys Targaryen.”

What might have been a smile wavered in and out of her too shiny blue eyes, at the corners of her full mouth, and he wondered what it would feel like to be the reason it finally showed itself. 

Maybe he might get to find out one day soon.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And we're off to the races... I have no idea when the next chapter is coming. I swear I'm gonna get Tourniquet done next, and probably mine and Ashley's Kinky beans. We also started a new fic for an upcoming jonerys event set for late July yesterday. So yeah... this is me begging you to be patient with me. Love and hugs and I'll see ya soon!! Thanks for reading!!


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